The Storm that Led Us Here
by betweenthetwo
Summary: "She was fond of you." Her tone belies confusion; of course she must wonder how a woman such as Brienne could hold anything other than contempt for a man such as him. - After the War, Jaime encounters a serving girl from Tarth.


THE STORM THAT LED US HERE

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A/N: Spoilers through ADWD, everything beyond that point is pure speculation.

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_I am the river wide, cross me never_

_I am the mountainside_

_All kinds of weather_

_~ Rock of Ages, Black Prairie_

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When he hears there is a girl in the fortress from Tarth, he summons her to the hall while he dines alone.

"I didn't know her very well, my lord," the girl says, embarrassed. She is nervous of him. He loves it and loathes it. He is, after all, still two men. The one who could bed Cersei and cuckold a King, the other who found Sansa Stark and spared the life of her captor when a strong hand stilled his sword.

"Indulge me." He has found it harder, as time marches on, to cling to the goodness Brienne seemed to see in him. He does not have his father or Cersei whispering plots and schemes in his ear, but he also has little time for kindness, especially towards a serving girl.

"Lady Brienne was very kind to me, Ser. She didn't much care for dresses or braids, but she did always let me brush out her hair and clean her shirts."

He smirks. He can't imagine anyone being able to coax the wench's short hair into anything resembling a fashionable style.

"These past years, she spent much time with her father, Lord Selwyn. Her husband," - he grimaces at the mention of Hunt, that spineless itinerant - "was often away, he had business elsewhere, she told me."

"Do you think that upset her?" he asks, an old ache in his chest thrumming to life.

"No, my lord. With all due respect to Lord Hunt, my mistress preferred to spend her days in the training yards and her nights in conversation with her father. She did not have much time for a husband."

He barks a laugh and she starts, ready to bolt. He can just imagine Brienne watching Hunt ride away _"on business"_ with a sigh of relief. He just hopes the fool kept his promise of fidelity, if nothing else.

"My lady spoke of you often, Ser," the girl ventures after a moment of silence. He wonders if he has been so transparent. "She was fond of you." Her tone belies confusion; of course she must wonder how a woman such as Brienne could hold anything other than contempt for a man such as him.

"We traveled together for a time," he tells her by way of explanation, and then lifts his stump. "She was with me when Vargo Hoat took my sword hand..."

"And then you saved her from his bear," the girl finishes, blushing. "She told me, Ser. And about how you gave her Oathkeeper, and how she led you to Lady Stoneheart, and how you found Sansa Stark together in the Vale before the dragons came."

He raises an eyebrow.

"You seem to know as much as I," he quips.

"I only wonder, Ser..."

"How the virtuous and honorable Brienne of Tarth bore the company of a Kingslayer?" He is so very weary.

She shakes her head and meets his eyes. "No, Ser. It is that... I wonder that you never visited Tarth, is all."

It is a lance to the chest. After Daenerys' pardon, after Cersei's death and the safe - if tense - return of his brother: this is the blow.

"Lady Brienne..." he pauses, still not sure if he understands after all this time. "She returned to Tarth before my sister died. When next we spoke, she was betrothed to Hyle Hunt. I was needed here." Is it an explanation, an excuse? He would have gone if she'd asked him too. She would have come if he'd invited her.

"Well, I am certain she missed your company, and treasured the time you had together," the girl offers.

"What's your name?" he asks, gently, really noticing her for the first time. She is not tall, and is built like a rake, all bones and angles. Her skin is pale, almost white, but her eyes are a strong blue, almost as bright as Brienne's, shocking in contrast to her dark, nearly black hair. She looks as if a wind might snap her as a twig, but he senses a steel behind her downcast eyes.

"Alsayne Storm." A bastard, of course. How else could a girl this bright and pretty be relegated to a serving maid?

"Were you there... were you with the Lady Brienne at the end?" He doesn't think about those final days, hasn't thought about them since he received the raven from Evenfall. He cannot imagine Brienne diminished.

"I was." Her fondness for the wench is clear. He is happy she had a friend, especially a female friend, with her at the last.

"I am sure you were a great comfort to her in that time."

"I tried my best, Ser. She felt great pain..."

"And now you work here?" He does not want to know. What good is it to imagine the suffering he only learned of too late? Even if he had been there, beside her, he could not have saved her from the malignant growth inside her, the sickness that ate her from the inside out.

"I assist Lady Myrcella's maid." His daughter's running girl. He can't have that.

"What age are you?"

"Five and twenty." A year younger than Brienne. He knows better than to assume a girl of her age is a child. The war saw to that.

"I am promoting you, Alsayne. I would like you to attend my council as my page."

"But, Ser! I am a woman..."

"Yes, I see that. I presume you can read and write?" She only nods, overwhelmed. "Then you will serve me well."

"I am afraid I do not understand, Ser. A page is a man's role."

"As is the role of a Knight, but Brienne of Tarth was the bravest, most honorable Knight Westeros has ever seen," he told her. "And you will be the promptest, most organized page Casterly Rock has ever dreamed of."

She blushes, and looks to the floor. In a fit of something -_ empathy, lust, grief?_ - he reaches out with his left hand and cups her chin, raising her eyes to his own.

"I loved Brienne," he tells her honestly, watching her eyes widen. Love has not come easy to him and the words are awkward in his mouth but he knows it as he knows he is alive. If Brienne knew, if she loved him, he is less certain. If he desired her, he has spent many hours, many nights, attempting to understand. Perhaps that is what kept him from Evenfall.

"She saved me in more ways than I can count. I want you with me, but only if you will honor her with your service. You must be bold and brash, unafraid to argue with me. Do not hesitate to challenge the Eastern lords, to correct the merchants of Lannisport. And most importantly: look me in the eye when you speak with me."

He sees a change in her then, a straightening of the shoulders and a set in her jaw. It is as if the fear and shyness have been shrugged off like an ill-fitting cloak. For a moment, in those blue eyes, he sees a strength and a shine he has not seen for years. The ache in his chest throbs, then subsides.

In a blink, it is gone, and she is returned to herself, having somehow extricated her face from his grasp.

"I will serve you well, my lord, for Lady Brienne." She nods, waits a moment for further instructions, and when they do not come, bows gracefully and leaves without a sound.

He is not a good man, not a nice man. He is not even a full man, crippled as he is. He is a Lannister, debt-paying and oath-breaking. He fucked his sister and let her raise his children as the children of that oaf Robert Baratheon. He killed the Mad King and he pushed a young boy out a window to keep his secrets safe. He saw Cersei tried at the hands of Daenerys Targaryen and he did not flinch when the Queen bade him light the flame underneath her pyre as proof of his loyalty.

But, he is also the man who restored Sansa Stark to the North, who spared Petyr Baelish's life and saw him tried at Winterfell. He helped deliver Jon Snow - now Targaryen, he supposes - to the Red Keep, and he kept peace in the city when the Dragon Queen arrived.

Above all that, he saved Brienne from rape and mutilation at the hands of Vargo Hoat, and he rescued her and Payne from the Brotherhood Without Banners. He punched Red Ronnet Connington for disrespecting her and he tended to the rope burns on her neck and the bite marks on her cheek on The Quiet Isle.

He let her go, let her marry Hyle and return to Tarth, rather than keep her with him, next to him, as he repaired his home and his family name, as he mended his relationship with his brother and his remaining children. He did not make her wait while he muddled through the mess that was his heart, he did not have her next to him when he dreamed of Cersei in the nights before and after her death.

Did he do the right thing? He does not know what that would even mean, but he did try to do the _honorable_ thing. There were no oaths to break; they parted equals. She chose Hunt and Tarth and her father and she didn't look back, either.

In this moment, it does not help. He can remember her frown, her puckered cheek, her small breasts. He can remember her voice, "_Kingslayer_", "_Jaime_", her sword kissing his before he lost his hand. He remembers those eyes, those astonishing eyes in that homely face.

He walks to the window, stares down at the dark waves crashing against the rock and he wonders if he has done right by her with Alsayne. It is a selfish decision to keep her close, as he could not keep Brienne. Hard as it will be, he will be honorable toward her. He will not seduce her or coerce her, he will not slip his good hand up her skirts as she stands next to him.

Or, perhaps he will. Perhaps he will love her in the ways he did not - for want of desire or opportunity, he does not know - love Brienne. He could even marry her, for what further shame could he bring to a disgraced house? The Dragon Queen would probably approve of the match, fond as she is of slaves and servants. He could have his way with her, make her his, and abandon her to bear her bastard alone on the streets of Lannisport - who expects more of him than that? For all Brienne and the loss of his hand changed him, he is still himself, still Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer, Lord of Casterly Rock, father of a deposed King, father of a dead King.

"My Lord?" it is Alsayne, at the door. How long has he been standing, thinking? He acknowledges her. "The Lords of the East are here for Council," she tells him. "Will you be needing my services?"

Yes. He will.

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A/N: I own nothing. I know GRRM does not approve of fanfiction, so I feel bad for publishing this. Lyrics belong to the fantastic Black Prairie.


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